Shortstories
by Ris'on I'inekin Tyaedairgue
Summary: Lots and lots of short one-shot nonsense for Kuroshitsuji. Rating will vary and will be always written before the shortstory between the general info. And, unless mentioned otherwise, THEY ARE ALL, I REPEAT, ALL ONE-SHOTS only. Possible BL ahead.


**Lots and lots of short one-shot nonsense for Kuroshitsuji. Rating will vary and will be always written before the shortstory between the general info. And, unless mentioned otherwise, THEY ARE ALL, I REPEAT, _ALL_ ONE-SHOTS only.  
>VERSION means: I have several similar scenarios.<br>PART means: it is going to continue.  
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><p><strong>Title: <strong>Love Is For Poets (Version 1)**  
><strong>**Characters: **Sebastian Michaelis, Ciel Phantomhive  
><strong>Pairings: <strong>SebaCiel  
><strong>Rating: <strong>T  
><strong>Reasons: <strong>Just came to me on the bus on my way home  
><strong>Type:<strong> AU  
><strong>Additional information: <strong>Platonic, bittersweet mood

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><p><em><strong>~Love Is For Poets~<br>****~Version 1~**_

He was like a porcelain doll, flawless, perfect. Just looking at him was making me feel a sickening, sweet taste in my mouth. If only I could reach out my hand and lightly brush my fingers over that smooth skin, if only I could reach out and touch to confirm he's real. He was beautiful when dressed in rags, rags that were barely able to cover his body to keep him at least a little bit warm, I wondered how he'd look like if I took him to my house and dressed him up in fancy, expensive clothes. Something like that would suit him much more; when I was looking at him from my window, I could see how much he stood out between the other beggars, he was like a pearl in the mud, like a pure, shining diamond between pieces of coal.

So pleasant to look at. He was obviously younger than me, his teal hair was short and a little bit messy, he seemed tired and exhausted from cold and hunger... and yet, his hands with his begging bowl weren't shaking a bit.

Those captivating hands with fingers so slender they seemed transparent, holding a bowl that was completely empty. Nobody stopped to look at him, to talk with him, nobody gave him a red cent, nobody wanted to touch him. Even the other beggars were trying not to get too close to him, like he was infectious. There was an empty space around him that nobody dared to enter.

Suddenly, he turned his fair face to look up, and I could see what I've never noticed before, that his right eye was permanently closed. Either he couldn't open it, or maybe he didn't have the right eyeball at all. And his only eye, an eye of a shimmering blue color, was looking right at me through the glass. We stared at each other without moving for a while, then he smirked darkly and looked at the road in front of him again. I gulped nervously.

Of course I knew why everyone is afraid of him. There has been a rumor going around for a while that he's cursed. I never got the chance to look into that matter, and honestly, though I was curious, I didn't want to poke it. Not because I was afraid of the curse, obviously. I was just afraid of meeting him. I knew very well about the differences, how apart we are from each other. Though I have butterflies in my stomach every damn time I see him, I don't think I might possibly feel something like love towards him. I find him attractive and arousing, and that's it. Love as such doesn't exist. And that's why I always, always only do this...

I rang a bell and a maid appeared immediately. "Yes, Sir Michaelis?" she bowed politely. "That usual guy. Give him something warm to eat, some hot tea, and for God's sake, at least a scarf. Nothing outstanding. And make sure nobody can tell it's me who sent it."

"Understood, Sir."

I heard the door, but I wasn't looking at her anymore. My eyes were clinging to his slender form again, to the boy who didn't tremble at all even though he was nearly half-naked and standing out there, ankles-deep in the snow. Maybe I should give him a new pair of shoes, too.

I watched my maid, as she ran across the road and stopped at his side with a bowl of soup and a mug full of tea. Then she took off her own scarf and wrapped it around him, gave him some money, about the same amount I always sent, and then she left and he was standing there with my gifts.

Again, he looked at me and my heart skipped a beat because I caught myself with my hand on the glass, eyes glued to him. He smirked again and slightly nodded as thanks, then he sat down by a wall and started eating.

Suddenly, I felt something tickle me on my cheek. I touched it and was surprised to see that my fingers got wet.

I have no clue why, but I was crying.


End file.
